Eyes ablaze, a bear came at night. It lumbered into camp, earth shaking under claw. In the light of a crackling campfire its shadow flickered upon the trunks of conifers. Breath swirled about its snout before rising into the night. Fast asleep, Maistoinna (My-stween-a) Standing Bear was oblivious of the ursine's presence - or maybe he wasn't. Either way, he turned his back on the bear.
Maistoinna wasn't concerned about a bear invading his camp. He was experienced camping in Bear Country and took precautions. The Blackfoot Indian was fond of saying: "If a bear's crazy enough to slash his way into my tent, I'm crazy enough to have a nasty surprise waiting for him." This night, Maistoinna didn't pitch his tent, choosing instead to sleep under the stars.
The cinnamon bear nosed closer, firelight betraying a deep gash upon its shoulder. Around the wound dried blood matted its fur. A normal bear might pause to paw at this rock or that, maybe uncovering a tasty treat. This bear seemed different; slowly, deliberately, he moved toward Maistoinna. Hovering over the sleeping Blackfoot, the bear paused, studying his quarry as its steamy breath belched skyward.
When Maistoinna rolled onto his back, the bear pounced. With a primordial grunt, it nudged Maistoinna with a giant paw, startling him from sleep. Maistoinna screamed, the echoes of his bellow rolling over the treetops.
The bear pinned Maistoinna and lowered its snout. "Shut up!" the bear growled, engulfing Maistoinna with putrid breath. "Sweeny, Shut up! It's me," the bear shook Maistoinna's shoulders.
Terror filled Maistoinna's eyes as he struggled to free his arms, his breath rapid and shallow under the bear's weight.
"Calm down, calm down, it's me."
Maistoinna squinted, recognition settling him.
"Sorry to scare you, my friend, but it's the only way I can get your attention," the bear said.
"It's happening again," it warned. "Do something about it. This time, do something. Don't let another Eagle fall."
Maistoinna awoke with a start, his heart pounding. Next to him, embers from the dying fire glowed weakly. "A dream, only a dream," Maistoinna mumbled. Confused and weary, he sat motionless, scrutinizing the tree line. Far from his Browning, Montana, home, Maistoinna was camping along the Appalachian Trail in northeastern Pennsylvania, in the midst of a solo quest at conquering the two thousand-mile trail.
Shaken, Maistoinna snuggled into his sleeping bag. For the first time in his adult life, he didn't feel at home in nature. He suddenly feared the dark and what lurked within; he wished to be in a motel room, in a comfortable bed, under a warm blanket, watching this week's million-dollar movie.